


Lost and Found

by Krisser__kris



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-09-25
Updated: 2002-09-25
Packaged: 2017-12-05 17:07:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/725739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Krisser__kris/pseuds/Krisser__kris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Methos is summoned back to Paris.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lost and Found

** Lost and Found **

**by Krisser**

 

The old immortal pushed his way into Joe’s bar. He’d been summoned back to Paris and he wasn’t sure why. When he’d asked Joe, the only response had been, “MacLeod.”

Of course, with that one word, Adam Pierson bought a plane ticket and was walking into Le Blues Bar less than twenty-four hours later.

He felt MacLeod’s Presence and that of another immortal. His right hand moved under his coat as he looked over the crowd. In the corner he located the other, Amanda. He relaxed his grip off his sword.

Amanda saw Methos and rushed over, “Adam! Thank goodness you’re here. It’s Duncan.”

Concern won over his ire, “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know. He’s been drunk for days. Acts as if he wants to end it. I’ve been standing guard in case someone challenges him. He’d just offer them his head as he did me.”

Methos was glad that Amanda was so absorbed in the telling of her story that she missed his reaction to the part of Duncan’s asking her to take his head. “What the hell happened?” He moved to the bar to grab the waiting beer Joe had for him.

“He came in three days ago. Started drinking Scotch, hasn’t stopped since and hasn’t left that seat except to pee.” Joe told the new arrival.

Methos noted absently that the Highlander was seated next to the men’s room. He looked between the two friends, “What did he say?” Exasperated at both mortal and immortal at their lack of information. “What drove him to this?” His frustration colored his voice.

“A brood.” 

The ancient immortal relaxed a bit. He could deal with that. He turned to Joe, who also had the capacity to deal with a brood. “What the hell happened?” He figured he would repeat himself until he got an answer that made sense.

Joe shrugged, “I don’t really know.”

“You’re his watcher.”

“Damn it, Adam, you know I don’t watch him like that anymore.”

Fighting his irritation at the lack of any decent information he continued, “Okay,” he used a tone that he would have with a wayward child, “Start with when Mac first walked in here. Can you do that?”

Joe’s own irritation at the tone colored his voice, “Yes. He came in and asked if I had a clue where you were. As I promised, I said no. He said nothing else. Took a bottle of the good Scotch and hasn’t stopped yet.”

Methos’ eyebrows raised as far as they could go, “That’s all? You don’t ask him what was wrong when he began drinking, before he got completely inebriated?” The sarcastic edge of his voice bit hard.

“He said nothing until Amanda showed up.”

“Out of the blue?” Methos asked dryly as his head swung toward the other immortal.

“Well, Nick was otherwise engaged and I thought a Parisian break would be nice,” the lady explained.

“On Duncan’s card.” It wasn’t a question, just a statement.

The vixen shrugged good naturedly, “Instead, I find Duncan in a funk and I can’t budge him out of it.”

The old immortal could hear the frustration at this turn of events in her voice. He turned to Joe, “And you call me because…?”

“He asked your whereabouts when he first came in. It was his only coherent sentence.” Joe made it sound so very logical.

Methos finished his beer, snagged another one and walked to the back where the Highlander sat alone. He looked at the bent head, resting on his arms, over the near empty bottle. He sighed as he stated, “Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod.”

Without raising his head, the Scot said, “I have no wish to fight ye. If you want my head, take it.”

“I’ve never wanted your head before and I don’t want it now.”

“Damn.” A hand reached for the glass but he didn’t raise his head to drink it.

“MacLeod, why don’t you sit up so we could try and talk?”

“Don wanna. Do like your voice, though. I’ll jis listen to it,” the muffled voice replied.

The sober immortal rolled his eyes, “So what are you brooding over?”

“I’m not brooding.”

“Then why do this?”

“Sad.”

“What has caused this sadness?” Methos found the Highlander adorable in this melancholy mood.

“I’m a judgmental bastard and I learned too late that I can’t judge others least I be judged myself and be found wanting. I lost the best of myself.”

“What did you lose?” he prodded gently.

“My heart.”

Methos sucked in his breath, damn, “You’ve fallen in love?”

“Aye.”

“So, what happened?” He didn’t want to ask who.

“I judged the past and lost the future.”

Damn, Scot. Methos thought, it was his forte to be ambiguous, not the Scot’s. He was the plain speaker of the bunch.

“You spoke your heart and were rejected?” The old immortal found that very hard to believe.

“Nope, never did. Threw insults instead.”

“Not at your romantic best, I see,” Methos mused aloud.

In a forlorn whisper, “I was afraid to say it. You see, I was not loved that way in return.”

“How would you know if you said nothing?”

“I judged him.”

“Him?” To himself he added, damn, the Highlander was this way over a man.

“Aye.”

“Well, tell me his name and I’ll drag his arse over here so you can get this straightened out.”

“Noh. He musn’t be hurt. I’ve done enough of that already.” Duncan paused before he added, “I like your voice. It’s the very best one any of my apparitions have had. It kinda reminds me…” he drifted off. Then he closed his eyes as he threw back his head and tossed down another drink.

Methos placed his hand on the empty shot glass to stop another shot.

“It’s my only solace. Please,” a slurred whisper begged.

“Why here? Why not drink at home?”

“Take too long for a hunter to find me there. One can find me here.” Duncan moved his hair aside, exposing the back of his neck. “Say, you seem more solid than the other apparitions, my sword is under the table. Place it here, on the back of my neck and press hard. That’ll make me happy.”

Methos backed away two steps, “Duncan MacLeod, I will never take your head.” Just the thought of the loss of this man spiked the immortal’s ire. Voice raised, “Just tell me the name of the fool that has tied you in knots and I will resolve this,” Methos demanded in a voice use to commanding.

“I canna tell you his real name. I have done that before to his dismay.”

“Well, then,” Methos was trying to keep his voice even. An inebriated Mac was worse than a small child for getting information from. “What do you call him?”

“My heart.”

“Damn it, Mac. What should I call him?”

“Lost. As sure as the sun rises, he’s lost to me.”

The woebegone voice got to the ancient. He squeezed Duncan’s shoulder and asked gently, “Mac, trust me. Tell me his name.”

“Which one?” The muffled voice asked as he closed his arms tighter about his face.

“Which ever one you’d trust me with.”

“Methos. His name is Methos.” A hidden tear ran down his cheek.

The old immortal was flummoxed, astounded, Mac was acting this way over him. The hints had been there, but he hadn’t connected them. 

Now, what to do? Mac thought he was talking to an imaginary voice. He motioned Joe over. 

“Help me stand him up. I’ll take him home,” he told Joe after the watcher had joined them.

On the count of three, Joe and Methos lifted the Highlander to his feet. With an arm about his waist, the old immortal led the drunk and defeated man to his vehicle.

After he seatbelted and closed the door on the Scot, Methos turned to Joe, “Mac can get his car after he’s sobered up. Keep Amanda here.” 

Joe nodded, “Call me,” he asked.

The immortal nodded in return. “I will. He’ll be fine. I’ll take care of him.” He opened his door, got in and drove away.

Something in the immortal’s voice alerted the old watcher. To himself he thought, ‘finally’.

\--------

Methos tried to keep his thoughts on the road and not on the man whose head rested on his right shoulder. Tried not to dwell on the revelations Mac uttered in the bar.

He tried and failed.

Methos was stunned as he thought silently to himself, the Highlander had been looking to die because he hadn’t known where to locate him. Because he believed that I was lost to him. These thoughts dominated his drive home, not the road.

One thing he knew for sure, he had to wait for Duncan to be sober before he dealt with all this.

He pulled into Mac’s spot and got the drunken Scot onto his barge home. He led him straight to his bed and laid him down. He was about to walk out of the room when he heard a sad voice.

“I doena want to be alone.”

“I’ll stay ‘til you fall asleep. Then, I’ll get your fella here.” Methos promised the drunken man.

“Can ya really?” A bit of hope seemed to color the voice.

“Yes. The rest is up to you.”

“Tank yew.”

The older immortal rubbed the Highlander’s back until he fell asleep. He then covered Mac and grabbed a blanket for himself as he headed to the couch.

Sleep eluded him as he contemplated what would happen in the morning.

Duncan had called him his heart. That implied more than just friendship. His own heart rate increased as he wondered, could it be? The oldest immortal had started his fall into love with the young highlander at that first encounter.

MacLeod had wanted nothing more than to protect him. No one in five thousand years had offered to protect him with no ulterior motive. But Duncan had.

In ways, he was everything the ancient immortal was not. 

Also, one could not ignore his beauty, both inside and out. He had found it difficult on many occasions not to reach out and touch the chiseled chest during their sparring.

The friendship had been offered and accepted. All had progressed well until Kronos. Then his life had fallen apart once more. This time with more devastating effects.

MacLeod had ended everything. Had judged him and found him wanting. That didn’t matter though, he had still found himself fighting to save Duncan against his “brothers”. He remembered when he had thought that Mac had… He wrenched his thoughts away and remembered instead the Highlander yelling at Cassandra that he wanted Methos to live. That still filled him with awe.

They had talked after, but all was strained, possibly destroyed. 

Amanda had brought him back into the Highlander’s life because of Keane and he was threatened with the loss of his head for his interference. Though he had to admit that he had been worried about MacLeod then. The Scot had seemed tired, defeated. 

This evening had been worse than that. Duncan had given up. 

Methos knew he wanted what was being hinted at. He had hoped for eventual acceptance, possibly liking enough to continue a friendship, but he had never entertained the idea that the Highlander could love him in return. And, unless he was way off the mark, that scene back at the bar was about love.

When the hell had that happened?

The warmth of that puzzle allowed the old one some needed rest.

\------

He was no longer at Joe’s. He was in his own bed. This registered quickly as Mac opened his eyes. He moved his head and encountered pain. “Ahh, why am I sober? Why am I alive?” Mac groaned aloud.

“While I can’t say for sure, I can only assume that you stopped drinking. As for being alive, since you are speaking, I assume you still have your head.” A familiar sarcastic voice informed him loudly.

“Methos?” Mac asked aloud, despite the pain it caused his head.

“Yes, MacLeod. I suggest a shower before anything else. If you don’t dawdle, I’ll make coffee.”

“Okay,” MacLeod answered then made his way to the bathroom. As the water hit his body, Duncan smiled and whispered, “He did it.” Whoever had been here with him before he slept did what he promised. Produced Methos. Now he had to gain his forgiveness above everything.

Duncan emerged dressed and found Methos actually there in a familiar sprawl on the couch. He was overjoyed and scared at the same time.

The older immortal pointed to the coffee mug on the counter. MacLeod picked it up and sipped it slowly. 

That little bit of fear that marred the Highlander’s eyes pushed the older immortal to start talking. “Well, Mac, why am I here?”

Duncan turned to face his friend, or at least, he still hoped he was. “What did he tell you?” Mac was curious how Methos got here so quick.

“That it was imperative that I contact you.”

“Yes, well, that is true.”

Methos leaned forward and waited.

“I have been remiss.” Duncan sat down on the edge of the coffee table.

Methos said nothing. He didn’t prod, it was essential for the Highlander to do this himself. He needed to before they could go anywhere else.

“I judged you without understanding your past. That was wrong. I sent you away, I threatened to take your head, as if I had the right to do so.” Mac put his face into his hands with a defeated air. “I understood too late that circumstances occur that put us in places and situations that aren’t even of our own making and as beings, we react. If we survive our past and learn, then our present is a result. Who you are today is a composite of all you’ve done and been before. If I like that man today, I need to leave your past just where it is, in the past.” Duncan moved to the window. “But I only realized this after I had pushed you away and lost the best of myself.” 

Methos’ eyes tracked all the body language as he waited patiently.

Duncan turned again to face the man he needed in his life. “I have lived but a fraction of your years and I thought myself worthy to judge you, instead I lost my soul. I dunna know if you can forgive me or not, but I had to tell you this regardless.”

Methos couldn’t speak, this was much more than he ever thought he’d get from the Highland youngster. Maybe…? “There will probably be more of my past in the future.” It was stated as a foregone conclusion.

“Aye,” the Scot nodded, “All part of the man today.”

“Some of it could be very bad.”

“No matter. That isn’t who you are today.” Duncan leaned back against the window.

Mac seemed to be at ease with those thoughts. Methos needed to be sure. He wanted it all too much to let himself be fooled now.

“All I ever wanted was acceptance. I forgive all, Duncan.” 

Mac frowned in puzzlement, “After the way I’ve treated you, you can still want to be my friend?”

“Yes, Mac, I do.”

MacLeod drew in a deep breath filled with relief. “Thank you.” A great weight had been lifted. He could envision a future once more.

The oldest immortal waited. There was more, he could feel it, but it was possible that Highlander would be too reticent to continue at this time. Methos didn’t really want to wait a hundred years for his Highlander.

“I am curious about one thing, you said that you lost a part of yourself. I wondered what you were referring to?”

“The best of myself, that’s what I said. That I had lost the best of myself.”

The older immortal nodded, “Yes. What part of yourself is lost?” 

“You.”

Methos jerked in his spot, once again the younger immortal had surprised him.

“Old Man, I had lost the me that I am when I’m with you. I like that version of me. I have found myself incomplete without you in my life.”

Methos could not deny the honesty that rang in the words, that was displayed in the open body language or in the emotion that surrounded the both of them. He locked eyes with the now vibrant man across the room whose eyes spoke of a deeper emotion than hadn’t yet been spoken of. 

“I am in your life. We’re friends.” Methos was struck by how cautious he, himself, was being. This was more important than he realized.

“Every day. I find I want you there, every day.” MacLeod wasn’t sure if this much would be tolerated but Methos deserved the truth, all of it.

“For several hundred years, I have just been marking time, watching but not participating in life. You, Mac, changed that. You dragged me back into life and I find I want to stay here, if it is with you.”

Duncan wanted to rush across the room and scoop the immoral into his arms. He restrained all the hidden emotion, he wasn’t sure what was declared. Instead, he walked over to Methos and sat next to him, hopeful for the first time in weeks.

“Your friendship is like none other that I’ve had. I never want to lose that again.” The Scot paused and continued in a low but steady voice, “But I find the need to tell you all I feel, even at the risk of being rebuffed.” He picked up the slender hand of his friend and rubbed his thumb over the smooth knuckles. “Methos, when I said everyday, I meant just that. In my life, in my arms, in my bed everyday.” He looked down at his hands, afraid to see the wrong answer in old man’s eyes.

Methos cupped Duncan’s cheek and tipped his face upward. “Mac, when I said that I’ll stay if with you, I meant in your life, in your arms and most definitely in your bed.” Methos brought their lips together.

Mac opened his mouth to welcome in the questing tongue and reveled that he finally had Methos right where he needed him, in his arms. He wrapped the slender man tightly to him as his mouth was explored, as it had never been. Then he needed to taste and grabbed on to Methos’ tongue and sucked it in. He delved in deep, putting to memory all the different flavors that made up this incredible man.

Duncan ran his tongue along the unshaven chin, then down the immortal’s neck, Methos shivered at the wonderful sensations the tongue created. Duncan then nibbled and sucked the intersection of his neck and shoulder between kisses to the entire exposed area. He pushed the collar aside and tasted the new skin. Methos couldn’t contain the groans that escaped his throat.

The Highlander wanted more, “Methos, I want to touch all of you. Feel my skin next to yours.”

“Yes, Mac, oh yes.” Methos reached out and unbuttoned Mac’s shirt and unsnapped his trousers.

MacLeod stepped out of his clothes as he divested Methos of all his clothes before pushing him back against the couch cushions. Duncan lay atop, completely covering the other man’s body.

Pre-come from both erections coated the other’s skin and made for easy movement. They thrust against each other in a sensual exploration. They tried for slow, but the long hidden passion ignited a fire that quickly consumed them.

Methos rolled them, taking top position and the Highlander found himself folded within the strong embrace. Duncan yielded.

Never in his four hundred plus years had he done this, but in these arms it felt right, felt natural, felt glorious. The Scot gave himself over completely to his love.

The ancient immortal could feel the capitulation and was able to recognize immediately that it wasn’t in fear, but trust. It was a trust that shattered the dark, lonely shards hidden in forgotten corners of his heart and his soul.

Methos thrust his hips and Duncan answered, arching up, not wanting to lose contact. They found a rhythm that was as old as Methos, himself.

The abandoned joy on his Highlander’s face was enough to push him over and pull the Scot with him. Sated, side by side, they kissed. A kiss that was a promise and a pledge.

Duncan laid his head on Methos’ chest and was transfixed by a discovery. With awe in his voice, he said, “I found it.”

Pulling his love tighter within his arms, Methos asked, “Found what?”

Duncan listened to the steady beat beneath his ear and smiled, “My heart.”

fin


End file.
